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“Yes. The registration desk has confirmed the family seats. I’ve also collected the additional catalogues.”

Christopher extends his hand.

“Bryce.”

“Christopher.”

They shake, but the air between them could slice glass.

Then Bryce looks at me.

“Alice.”

“Hi.”

My voice is so weak.

His gaze lowers briefly to the ring, then returns to my face.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“You should be proud. The triptych looks absolutely incredible.”

My throat closes up so tight I could choke. The genuine pride in his smile is the most reassuring thing I’ve seen all evening.

“People have been looking,” I manage to tell him. “Camilla just said.”

“I know. Plenty of them.”

Something shifts in his eyes.

Confidence. Unyielding.

Not the hope he once gave my work because he loved me as well as my brushstrokes. This is different. He knows something. I can feel it.

Christopher gives a quiet laugh.

“You sound like an auction specialist. Who’d have thought it, Bryce?”

Um, everyone, I want to say. Since he’s a fucking art lover, you dumb prick.

“I’m hardly a specialist,” Bryce tells him. “I simply know Alice’s work. I’ve been viewing it for years.”

There is a slight intonation on the word years. Perfectly polite, but still a challenge.

Christopher’s fingers clench around mine.

Bryce sees it.

A muscle moves in his jaw.

Before either can speak, Camilla announces that the saleroom is now open.

The atmosphere shifts.

Some guests take one final look at the pieces they’ve marked. Others head directly through the double doors. A few remain by the bar, apparently uninterested in the early lots or confident their telephone bids are already arranged.